


homecomings and running away

by annadavidson



Series: that which shaped the century (a dragon age dual au) [11]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Dragon Age AU, Dragon Age Dual AU, Dragon Age Prompt Exchange, Dual AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 23:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10346913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annadavidson/pseuds/annadavidson
Summary: He hesitated, hands gripping the reigns, eyes staring up at the horse.Prompt: Lavellan refuses to become anyone's Herald and returns to their clan despite protests and Cassandra's threats. They see the devastation as they travel back, closing rifts as they head home. Although the clan is glad to see them, they convince Lavellan that they are needed and that this is their duty now. When the clan comes under attack by Red Templars, Lavellan understands what they must do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Elven translations (in order of appearance): da’len = little child/little one; mamae = mother; ma = my; len = child; ma len = my child; garas = come; malas = your; vhenas = home; malas vhenas = your home. Source: http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Elven_language

He hesitated, hands gripping the reigns, eyes staring up at the horse. His sister’s words played over in his head – _“You can go, it’s alright.”_ There was guilt, though he knew she wouldn’t hold it against him. He didn’t want her to be in any danger, and she didn’t want him to be in danger either. He thought both of them would be safer with their clan. But she didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay and help. She hadn’t said it, but he knew she didn’t need his help. She was the better fighter, the stronger sibling. He knew everyone saw that – it was obvious. She would be a better Herald than him. Perhaps she would even grow to like the title.

He didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be this _Herald of Andraste._ He just wanted to be himself. He wanted to go back to being the clan’s First. He wished he’d never asked Elaith to convince the Keeper to send him to the Conclave with her and Aya. He wished the Keeper had never sent anyone to spy on the Conclave. There were many things he wished for, wished had happened differently – but wishing wasn’t enough to make them real. Wishing would get him nowhere.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

Galen froze, a small pang of panic striking him before he recognized the voice. He looked over his shoulder to see Cassandra standing a few paces behind him. She wasn’t dressed in full armor, but she wasn’t clothed casually either. Her usual sword rested on her hip, but she had forgone her shield. Perhaps she had taken up one of the night watches or was checking up on the soldiers who had.

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Galen tried to think of what to say, perhaps a lie to give. Would she let him leave? Would she try to stop him? He liked to think that if she didn’t consider him a friend, they were at least friendly acquaintances. Surely she wouldn’t force him to stay… But he admittedly didn’t know that for sure. Maybe he could say he was going for a ride to clear his head, but would she offer to join him? If he said he was going to patrol around the parameter, would she join him or send someone with him?

“I want to go home,” he heard himself say, the truth of it weighing heavily on his shoulders. It was no secret that he missed his home. Having Aya, Elaith, and Rasha at Haven helped him to feel a little less homesick, but Haven still wasn’t _home._ Sure his clan traveled around a lot like Dalish clans did, but home wasn’t always a place. Home could be a person or a group of people. For him, home was his clan.

Cassandra remained quiet for a moment more. He doubted she needed him to tell her he was leaving. He was clad in riding leathers, a Ferelden design, but the Dalish ones he had asked Josephine for hadn’t arrived yet. If that wasn’t enough, then certainly the horse and his hand clutching the reigns would be. Cassandra’s hand rested idly on the hilt of her sword. He wasn’t sure if that was out of habit or if she planned to use force to persuade him to stay.

“You’re running away,” she said eventually, and he was surprised by the softness of her tone. She almost sounded… _concerned_ for him. “Is this because of what happened at Redcliffe? You were pretty shaken up when you returned.”

He had admittedly forgotten that Cassandra hadn’t been at Redcliffe with him and Aya. Even if she had been there, only his sister and Dorian had witnessed that future with him. Cassandra had, instead, joined Elaith to petition help from the Templars. From what Elaith had told him, that hadn’t gone well, but she had managed to convince a majority of what was left of the Order to join them, though he still had a feeling Elaith wasn’t tell him everything that had happened.

Cassandra had learned about Redcliffe from him and Aya recounting it with Dorian’s help. Galen had been uncomfortable sharing details of the future, of what had happened to the companions they had brought along and Leliana, but Dorian had been able to cover anything he and Aya missed or forgot to mention.

“I’m not running away,” he insisted with a small shake of his head. He didn’t think of it as running away, not _entirely._ He tried to think of it mostly as going home. It did feel like running away, but that would make him cowardly and… He didn’t want to go down that thought path, not again.

She raised an eyebrow, not believing him. “Then what do you call this? What you’re doing?”

Galen hesitated, feeling quite vulnerable. “I… I want to go home.”

She sighed, looking tired, almost exhausted. He wondered how long she had been awake; how long had she been forcing herself to stay busy.

“Are you going to stop me?” he found himself asking.

“You’re not our prisoner,” Cassandra pointed out, “You are needed to close the rifts, but no one’s forcing you to stay.”

“You – You have Aya to close the rifts.”

“And the big one?”

Galen’s grip tightened on the reigns. “You have the mages now and some Templars too. Shouldn’t that – Isn’t that _enough?”_

Cassandra shrugged as if to say she either wasn’t sure if it was enough or to concede that he had a point – he wasn’t sure which it was. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment before she spoke again.

“You would just leave your sister?” the question came out gently with a mix of confusion. She had seen how close the two Heralds were so Galen guessed she found that part hard to believe.

Galen found that he couldn’t look her in the eye. There was a knot in his stomach, twisting with each second he didn’t get on the horse and ride off. “She doesn’t want me here… I mean she wants me to be _safe…”_

“What if no one’s safe from this Elder One?” she asked.

He didn’t want to think about that. “Isn’t there a part of you who wants to go home?”

She leaned to the side against the makeshift stable Haven had. Her gaze drifted to a few of the other horses that Master Dennett was tasked with taking care of. “Not particularly.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

“I think you can do more good here,” she answered, and he could tell she was being honest. “When I was doubting my choice to form the Inquisition, you told me you felt I made the right decision. You told me it was the right thing to do, to listen to my heart.”

He shifted so he was facing her rather than looking over his shoulder. He thought he knew where she was going. She wanted him to stay in the Inquisition – she would tell him that was the right thing to do. He didn’t think she’d miss him if he left, perhaps she’d miss having an extra Herald. They weren’t exactly the best of friends, though that didn’t mean they didn’t get along. He thought they could become good friends, if given the chance.

“What is your heart telling you?” she asked, her gaze falling onto him again, this time with some weight to it. “I have seen you follow your heart time and time again. You are emotionally driven, that I could tell from the moment I met you. So what is your heart telling _you?”_

He blinked, taken off guard. He… hadn’t expected that. It wasn’t that he thought Cassandra was heartless. He had just expected her to put the Inquisition first. At the same time, he realized when he thought about it more, someone like Elaith, who missed the clan as much as he did, probably would have asked him to stay. He already respected Cassandra as much as any warrior from his clan – he thought with her skills, she could put those warriors to shame. But he felt a warmth for her – like the urge to hug her. Yeah, he knew if given the chance, they could be close friends.

Perhaps he’d never get that chance now. He might never see her again. He might never see Aya again… He pushed that thought back. That was a path he didn’t want to go down.

“It’s telling me to go home,” he stated firmly, trying hard to keep his voice from wavering. He didn’t want to voice the doubts he had – the doubts he _always_ had. If he voiced them, if he gave them more thought, he might change his mind. He had picked a course of action, now he had to stick with it. “Are you… Are you going to make me stay?”

She seemed to think about that for a moment. “The Chantry could not make you and Aya turn yourselves over to them. Alexius could not make you leave the mages in his care nor could he make you stay in that future. Not even that envy demon could make Elaith give up on the Templars. I’m learning that no one _makes_ the Lavellans do anything they don’t want to.”

Galen couldn’t help but grin at that. He knew his clanmates and the rest of his family could be just as stubborn – it was part of the reason why Rasha had fit in so well when he’d been accepted into the clan. His stubbornness had fit right in.

“Thank you, Cassandra.” He felt like hugging her, but he wasn’t sure if she was the type to enjoy hugs or if she wasn’t comfortable with physical contact like that.

She watched him hoist himself up onto the saddle and adjust his staff so it could be strapped to his back without hitting the horse and making the animal uncomfortable. She watched him hesitate, his eyes staring off into the distance. He looked at her once last time, and she found herself giving him an encouraging nod. She watched him ride off and wondered if his sister was watching or if she would wake up with the sun to find her little brother gone.

“You will make the right decision,” she said softly, unsure if he could still hear her. “Even if neither of us know what that right thing to do is yet.”

* * *

He didn’t know _exactly_ where his clan was. He knew the general area. They moved around a lot, but they had sent letters to him and Aya, keeping them up to date. They were in the process to moving to somewhere near Wycome, but they were still in Ferelden for now. It would be more than a day’s journey, after all the journey to spy on the Conclave hadn’t been a short one. He took breaks often to make sure the horse stayed hydrated. Occasionally he would dismount and walk alongside the horse to give the animal a break from his weight. He’d packed enough supplies for a week’s journey, expecting it to be no more than that.

The journey wasn’t a smooth one, either. There were still rebel mages and rogue Templars fighting – not everyone believed in Elaith’s pitch at Therinfal Redoubt about proving through the Inquisition that mages and Templars could work together without oppression and fighting. He got caught in the crossfire a few times. The rogue Templars didn’t seem to know the difference between a _Dalish_ and a _rebel_ mage. A little belatedly, he thought he should have picked riding leathers that bore the Inquisition’s crest. Perhaps that would have made them less likely to attack him.

He was admittedly used to being underestimated. He underestimated himself all the time, though he didn’t realize that. He had figured out that the Inquisition’s enemies, and people who attacked him in general – rogue Templars, bandits, for example – saw him as the weakest link. They saw his preference to keep casualties, even on the enemy’s side, to a minimum. They saw how he didn’t like to take a life and misunderstood it as weakness. Galen made the same mistake, when he thought over himself and his actions. But what he didn’t do was underestimate his magical capabilities.

He was good with magic – _great_ even. He had had a great teacher, Keeper Istimaethoriel. No he wasn’t a hunter or a warrior, but a Keeper protected the clan too, and he had been trained to be the next Keeper. People tended to look at him and see easy pickings, see someone who needed to be protected. He remembered surprising Cassandra, Varric, and Solas when they had been fighting demons in the snow, trying to make their way to the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Aya hadn’t been surprised. As protective of him as she was, she knew what her little brother could do.

The rogue Templars who attacked him weren’t killed and while they weren’t dispatched quickly, they never managed to gain the upper hand. He eventually knocked them out and rode off to put distance between them, but had to stop to take a break, exhausted from the fight and mana he’d had to burn. He found a shady spot and swung off the saddle. His first priority was, of course, hydrating his horse. When the horse was done, he grabbed his own water and quenched his thirst before sitting down with his back against a tree.

The terrible thing about traveling alone was a lack of good company. He had no one to talk to but the horse. He didn’t mind having a conversation with the animal, but it didn’t talk back so it was always a one-sided conversation. And it always looked annoyed at his chattering.

Not everyone he ran into were hostile, though. There was a group of refugees, injured and starving. He’d tied the horse’s reigns to a tree after dismounting and approached the refugees. They had only trusted him after he told them he was from the Inquisition. He used his magic to heal them and against better judgment, gave them the rest of his rations. He didn’t necessarily need the Inquisition’s food. He had lived off the land with his clan plenty of times. He knew what plants he could eat and which ones to avoid. He wasn’t a hunter, but he didn’t think he needed meat until he reached the clan.

When he removed his gloves to wash them, one of the refugees gasped. Galen turned quickly, fearing something was wrong. But the little girl’s eyes were on the glowing Mark on his hand. The Mark was throbbing slightly – it had been for the past couple days without Solas to keep it at bay. Realistically he knew it would get worst and it could kill him if he didn’t return to Haven. He hadn’t considered that or thought that part through before leaving. He wondered if that had occurred to Aya when she’d told him he could leave.

“You’re a Herald of Andraste!” the little girl gasped again. That caught her parents’ attention, both adults now approaching and taking a look at the Mark on his hand.

Galen shifted uncomfortably on his feet. The little girl didn’t notice it, but her parents did.

“So it’s true?” the father asked, looking from the Mark to the tattoos on Galen’s face. “The Heralds of Andraste are Dalish?”

Galen felt his stomach twist. He didn’t like being called a Herald of _Andraste,_ and he didn’t like the surprise that crossed Andrastians’ – both humans, like the family, and city elves – faces when they put two and two together and realized he was Dalish. “Is that a problem?” He wondered if he sounded as uncomfortable as he felt.

Both parents noticed his uncomfortableness, but the mother seemed to take it into account more. She spoke soothingly in a voice only a mother could have, “Not at all. _Thank you,_ for everything.”

He was quickly slipping his gloves back on, wincing as the leather brushed against the Mark. He gave them a quick nod before making his way back to his horse. He wanted to get out of them and move on to somewhere where no one knew he was the Herald or would talk about it. Surely his clan wouldn’t.

* * *

He ran into one rift on his journey. It was harder to close on his own than he would have expected. He honestly hadn’t expected to run into a rift at all. He considered it good that the demons focused their attention on him rather than attacking the innocent and defenseless horse. Not that he liked the attention, but at least they weren’t killing his transportation. The demons were a tougher challenge than rogue Templars or bandits. Especially the ones that could create some sort of portal, jump through, and then appear somewhere else – he _hated_ those ones, whatever they were called.

One appeared from beneath him and the next thing he knew, it had him by the throat. He had dropped his staff, but thankfully he didn’t need his staff to use his magic, but it would have been nice to have it to whack against the demon’s head. He summoned a fireball and threw it into the demon’s face. The creature shrieked and dropped him. He didn’t land gracefully, sprawled against the grass. The demon towered over him, looking angry – either that or it had a resting angry face.

Then there was suddenly a shield – beautifully crafted and a clear Dalish design – between him and the demon and a sword slashing upwards. Another sword came down on the demon from behind. It gave one last shriek before it died.

Galen registered the sound of a fight – arrows shot from bows, daggers drawn from their sheaths, and swords hacking and slashing at demonic flesh. But all he saw were the two faces that looked down on him. The woman resembled him, or rather _he_ resembled _her._ She had the same skin tone and chestnut hair that he did, except her hair was longer and straight, tied back in an elegant braid. His wavy hair came from the man, though it was hard to tell with the man’s hair being cut shorter than Galen’s. Whereas the woman’s eyes were a beautiful brown, the man had the same brilliant emerald color that Galen did. The lighter skin tone of the man and the shape of his nose reminded Galen of Aya. The dark, almost black, brown hair color was something he hadn’t passed down to either of his children.

His parents, Amalia and Gethel Lavellan, were looking down at him with a mixture of love and surprise. Amalia protected her son with her shield, her sword clasped in her other hand. Gethel released one hand from the hilt of his two-handed sword to gently take Galen’s hand and help him back to his feet. Galen was pulled into a brief, one-armed embrace by his father, who placed a soft kiss against his forehead. Before anything could be said, they were reminded of the battle.

The remains of demons littered the ground, slayed by Clan Lavellan’s warriors and hunters – and the Keeper too, Galen noticed. The rift was still open, though, and at any moment, more could come. Galen picked up his staff and strapped it to his back. He then approached the rift with unease – he didn’t think he’d ever get used to using the Mark, to being so close to a rift, to the Fade. He slowly pulled his left glove off, revealing the throbbing Mark. He held it out toward the rift.

The clan watched in silence as the rift was closed. It was easier to do when both he and Aya were closing it. On his own, it was more of a struggle but not impossible. Once the rift closed, he frantically pulled his glove back on. He looked around to see the clan staring at him. From a safe distance away, he could see the faces of children, of those that didn’t or couldn’t fight, watching with wide eyes. He wondered if this wasn’t going to be the homecoming he had hoped for.

His parents stood close to his side, but now they looked at him with concern. They had been informed like the rest of the clan about what had happened to their two children, but to see it in person was different… It worried them.

His gaze flew from his parents to Keeper Istimaethoriel as he noticed her approach him. Her greying red hair was tied up in a loose bun. Like everyone else, she looked the same as the last time he had seen her. She noticed the way he held his left hand, tenderly as if afraid of hurting it more than it obviously already was. So instead, she took his right hand in hers and smiled warmly at him.

“Welcome home, _da’len.”_

* * *

Most of the day was spent telling stories of the Inquisition, about their adventures. He told them about Rasha finding the Inquisition and what had happened to their former clanmate. He had sat down with Elaith’s parents and told them about how she had searched him and Aya out until he had ran into her in the Hinterlands, and she had joined the Inquisition. While he hadn’t witnessed it, he told them about the story of Therinfal Redoubt, about how Elaith, a Dalish mage, had managed to convince what was left of the Templar Order to join the Inquisition as allies against the Breach and this Elder One.

He explained what he knew about the Elder One, these Red Templars, and the Venatori. He told them, hesitantly, what had happened in Redcliffe with Alexius and the mages. He left out the part about him being fairly certain he had fallen head over heels for Dorian, but he did feel his face heat up with a blush when he talked about the fellow mage. He told the clan all about the friends he had been making in the Inquisition.

And he told them about Aya, about how great she was doing as the Herald. He could tell his parents were disheartened that his sister hadn’t joined them. They missed both of their children, after all. He told them that Aya had chosen to stay. When it got late, he found himself in front of the fire, curled up between his parents. He noticed the way that they, the Keeper, and the other adults were quiet. The children had been put to bed already, and the adults had gathered around the fire. He looked from his mother to his father and noticed that they wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Galen shifted so he was sitting up on his own, his gaze settling on his mother. _“Mamae,_ is something wrong?”

Amalia hesitated, looking at her son softly. She lifted her hand up and brushed some hair out of his face. “My _da’len,_ I’m so happy that you’re home.”

He sensed a _but_ coming. “Then… What’s _wrong?”_

It was Istimaethoriel that spoke next. “Why did you come home, Galen?”

Galen paused, wondering why that mattered. He was home, wasn’t that all that mattered? “I… I wanted to come home.”

“Is that the only reason, darling?” Amalia asked, gently taking Galen’s right hand in her own.

He felt like his heart had dropped. “Is that – Is that not _enough?”_

His parents exchanged a look with each other. The other adults glanced at his parents and the Keeper, unsure if they should throw their voices into the mix as well, though the looks on their faces said they agreed with his parents and Istimaethoriel.

 _“Da’len,”_ his father, Gethel, spoke this time. He reached forward and gently guided Galen’s head to the side so their eyes could meet. He moved his hand to caress his son’s cheek, looking at him with a mixture of affection and protectiveness. “My boy, it sounds like you are needed back with that Inquisition. It sounds like they need you, and I _know_ your sister needs you.”

His heart clenched in his chest. There was an ache that had been there since he had left Haven. An ache that told him he missed Haven, missed the Inquisition and the faces there. Most of all, he missed his sister. There was the guilt too – guilt for leaving instead of staying at her side. He wondered if she had meant it when she’d told him he could go. Could she forgive him for actually leaving? Did she miss him? Did she wish he had chosen to stay? Did she wish she had never told him it was okay to go?

His mouth felt dry. “She said… She wanted me to go. I’m safer here. She – She wants me to be safe.”

“So you came home to be safe?” Elaith’s mother, Nolanne, pointed out, her voice soft. He thought they all talked to him as if he were a fragile child. Perhaps he was one. “You ran away from the danger?”

Something inside him snapped. “I don’t think anyone would be surprised if I admitted I’m a coward.”

Nolanne, who was like an aunt to him, raised both eyebrows. “No one here thinks you’re a coward.”

Gethel moved to wrap one arm around him, coaxing his son closer to his side. It wasn’t a secret that Galen didn’t think highly of himself no matter how hard his loved ones tried to convince him otherwise. He rested his head against his father’s shoulder, staring at the fire, unable to look at his clanmates, his family.

 _“I feel like one,”_ he admitted quietly, the words tasting sour. “I’m… I’m _scared,_ and I ran away from what’s scaring me. How – How is that _not_ cowardly?”

His mother ran her hand through his hair. “Everyone gets scared, _ma len._ What define us is the choices we make when facing fear.”

“I _chose_ to _run away,”_ he pointed out. His ears were lowered as if the expression he wore wasn’t enough to show the tangle of emotions he felt inside. He met his mother’s eyes, and she slid over so that both she and her husband could hug him and hold him in their arms.

“Yes,” she admitted, then added firmly, “But you must still choose whether or not to _stay_ away.”

* * *

The next morning, he made a choice.

He awoke to the sound of children screaming and shouts from the hunters and warriors. His father hoisted him off the ground – if he hadn’t been awake already, he would have been now – just in time to miss the sword of a Red Templar. Galen turned quickly and pushed the Red Templar back with a burst of flames. He snatched his staff up and looked around a camp to get a sense of what was going on, where everyone was.

There was a large party of Red Templars, enough to outmatch each Dalish warrior and hunter two to one. Where had they come from? Were they here for him or just out to attack whoever they ran into? Was this a coincidence or planned?

“Everybody!” Galen shouted out to his clan, _“Garas!_ Behind me!”

The clan admittedly hesitated. They weren’t used to him taking charge. They were used to him wanting nothing to do with a fight. But they listened. They gathered around him, and he cast a wall of fire between them and the Red Templars. He knew that wouldn’t stop the Red Templars, but it would damage them as they approached. The adults and young adults made a protective circle around the children, acting like a barrier, a wall that stood between them and danger.

The warriors and some of the hunters were the front line, hacking and slashing with their swords and daggers. The rogues with bows hung back and provided much needed support, knocking Red Templars down with arrows thumping into the disfigured bodies. Galen stood at Istimaethoriel’s side, throwing spells out. He watched Istimaethoriel summon roots that shot out from the ground and caged several Red Templars. He watched his mother use her shield to defend herself and his father all the while cutting down a Red Templar archer. He sent out lightning from his staff that arched and shot down on multiple Red Templars, stunning them and allows others to pick them off.

The battle didn’t last forever, and by the time it was over, the ground was soaked with blood and covered with bodies. A few of the clan were hurt, but only Red Templars lay dead. Galen and the Keeper got to work healing the injured while parents comforted their children. After the healing was done, Galen took a moment to look out at the bodies of the Red Templars. He had told his clan about them, about how they worked for the Elder One like the Venatori did. He wondered how many of them had been good, honest men and women forced to consume red lyrium and become monsters. He wondered how many more would meet the same fate if the Elder One wasn’t stopped.

Realization struck him like a knife. The Elder One would want him to run. Whoever this Elder One was, they would want him to continue running with his tail between his legs. They would want him to stay with his clan, away from his sister, away from the Inquisition, away from the Breach. He couldn’t do this… He couldn’t stay.

“I have to go,” he stated firmly without looking up from the dead bodies, his voice carrying for the whole clan to hear. When he turned around, he saw his parents smiling warmly at him, supplies and rations already packed and held in their arms. They had known what choice he would make.

Others from the clan took the supplies and strapped them to the horse. His parents pulled him into a hug. He clung tightly to them, for some reason afraid that if he let go, he might not get the chance to hug them again. But he eventually had to let go, pulling back and trying not to let them see his eyes had filled with water.

“Your sister is waiting for you,” Gethel managed to speak, his throat tight, tears in his own eyes. He didn’t want to say goodbye to one of his children again, but he couldn’t hold his son back. “Remember, your family is your _vhenas._ So long as you have family with you, wherever you go will always be _malas vhenas.”_

Galen gave a small nod and made his way to say goodbye to the rest of the clan. It was a lot of hugs, and by the time he got to the Keeper, it was really hard for him not to cry. Istimaethoriel looked at him fondly with pride. She clasped his shoulders in her hands before pulling him into a hug.

“Should you ever need us, say the word and Clan Lavellan will fight,” she promised.

He pulled away, his eyebrows raised. “You’ll fight for the Inquisition?”

She shook her head. “We will stand with the Inquisition, but we will fight for _you and Aya.”_

* * *

The journey back wasn’t any shorter than the journey to the clan. By the time he arrived at Haven, it had been more than a few days, and it was late afternoon, the sun setting. Cassandra was the first one he saw when he dismounted and handed the reigns over to Master Dennett. He wanted to search for his sister. He wanted to apologize to Aya as well as the Inquisition’s advisors for leaving. But he found himself approaching Cassandra instead, the warrior meeting him half way, sheathing her sword after helping Cullen out with some of the recruits.

“You’ve returned,” she stated, not sounding surprised in the slightest bit.

Galen shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “I said I want to go home. I never said I’d stay there.” He thought he saw the corners of her lips twitch almost into a smile.

“Do you think you made the right choice?” she asked, managed to not crack fully into a smile.

He gave that some thought, looking around at the Inquisition, listening to the sounds of soldiers preparing for a war that was already started. When he looked back to her, he answered honestly, “I think we’ll find that out sooner or later.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like/reblog on Tumblr [here](http://magicrobins.tumblr.com/post/158533863710/lavellan-refuses-to-become-anyones-herald-and).


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